


Surrender, Never - Except to You

by ArtemisRayne



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Consensual Underage Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 03:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRayne/pseuds/ArtemisRayne
Summary: Jack Kelly has always had a hard time taking orders, doesn't like other people telling him what to do. That is until Davey Jacobs walks into his life.





	Surrender, Never - Except to You

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one of those random things I've been sitting on for a while so I'm posting it to stop poking at it. It's been a very long time since I've written smut, and I never was great at it to begin with (a side effect of being ace.) But I've always been interested by the balance of power between Jack and Davey, and how that might reflect more intimately.
> 
> Lame but true fact: this entire story idea was inspired by a line from one of my own works, which is about as conceited as it gets but there you have it. 
> 
> _"The famous Jack Kelly, who listens to no one. No one, that is, except his little partner-in-crime."_ \- [The Haunting of Refuge Prison](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417508/chapters/38435519)

Jack Kelly has always had a problem with following orders. He doesn't like being told what to do; doesn't want other people assuming they have some control over him and expecting him to do as he's told. It doesn't matter that he's just some poor street orphan, Jack's his own person, and he does what he wants, and he won't let others take that away from him. 

His old man called it 'disrespect,' and he tried to beat it out of Jack with his fists. 

The Bulls called him 'stupid,' and they trapped him in cuffs and behind bars in an attempt to steal his freedom.

Snyder called it 'insubordination,' and he tried to discipline Jack into behaving with his cold rooms and chores and isolation and riding crop. 

Even Miss Medda, who called him her 'stubborn boy,' tried to convince him to follow her well-intentioned instructions to accept her charity and come to her for help.

But at the end of the day, Jack Kelly knows who he is, and he doesn't bow to anyone. He is a leader, the protector and caregiver for dozens of homeless and penniless kids. He stands up for them, steps in to take the Delanceys' abuse so others don't have to. He teaches his boys to never feel like they're less just because they don't have as much money. Jack might give orders, but he doesn't take them. 

Until he meets Davey Jacobs. 

Davey is fierce and proud and possibly even more stubborn than Jack. It's not that Davey doesn't follow orders, he just carefully considers them before he complies. He only follows orders when he believes they're right, unlike Jack, who will rebel against anything just to prove he can. Davey does as his parents ask, or his teachers, or even Wiesel, so long as he thinks it's a reasonable request. 

So when Davey hops up next to Jack at the distribution gate, spurring the downtrodden newsies into a union strike, Jack doesn't hesitate to follow Davey's lead. Jack defers to Davey for the practical things in the strike - politics and legalities and diplomacy - while Davey listens to Jack when it comes to the way things work on the streets. It's a powerful, dizzying sense of give-and-take, and Jack isn't afraid to go where Davey leads because he knows Davey won't lead him wrong. 

It's Davey who steers Jack into handling the strike properly, keeping kids from lashing out at the scabs in their heightened emotions. 

It's Davey who convinces Jack not to give up just because he's scared, nudging him into staying the course. 

And when Jack finally bows to Pulitzer's orders, it's the furious disappointment on Davey's face that reminds Jack orders are only meant to be followed when they're _right_. 

No one on earth can tell Jack what to do and he will do it, unquestionably, except Davey Jacobs. 

So one blazing afternoon, when the two of them are squished close together on the lodging house roof to share the shade of a chimney, when Davey looks at Jack with determination and says, "Jack, just shut up and kiss me already," he does it without argument. (It doesn't hurt that it's something Jack's wanted to do for a while.) Jack's learning that he doesn't need to be stubborn about instructions that he knows are good, and Christ above, kissing Davey is _good_. 

"Ya know we could get in lotta trouble for this," Jack says one night when they're tangled together in the shadowy moonlight on Jack's sad excuse for a 'penthouse' bed. It's not that he wants Davey to stop, to go away, but he feels like he has to make sure Davey knows. Davey's a good boy, and he's got a future ahead of him, with schooling and a proper job and a home. "The laws - you could go to jail, Dave." 

"The laws are wrong," Davey says simply, and it washes away Jack's concern. Jack knows it's true, that the way he feels for Davey is not a crime, and Davey saying it just confirms that. Davey smoothes a hand reassuringly over Jack's spine, presses a kiss to his sweat-slick skin. "Ready?" Davey asks. When Jack nods, Davey slips inside, and Jack feels _whole_ for the first time in his life. 

After that first time, it's hard for them to stop. It's also, unfortunately, hard for them to find the chances to actually enjoy it. Mostly they resort to bruising kisses and grasping hands in alleys or on rooftops, sneaking the few minutes they can steal for themselves to find whatever gratification they can get. Then things get decidedly more fun when one day, Davey looks up from his knees and snaps, "Keep _quiet_, Jack," in a low growl, and the sharp command makes Jack's brain go fuzzy at the edges. 

Turns out not only will Jack follow any of Davey's orders without question, he _likes it_. 

Davey, of course, doesn't miss a thing, and he sets out to explore this development like a scientist conducting a series of thorough experiments. It starts small. "Hands to yourself, Jack." - "Grab my hair, Jack, yes, like that." - "Shirt, Jack, _now_." And every single time Davey fixes those fierce blue eyes on him and gives out instructions, Jack does exactly as he's told while his body sings with pleasure. 

Jack lives with far too much responsibility on his young shoulders, the health and safety of all the Manhattan newsies in his hands. He doesn't resent that (most of the time) because he knows these kids need him. At the same time, Jack didn't ask for this job, and he's still only seventeen, and sometimes the weight of that responsibility is so heavy he feels like he'll be crushed alive. Sometimes he just wants to let someone else take it all away, strip away all the demands and concerns and control. Sometimes he needs someone else to take charge.

When Davey gives him orders, Jack feels free to not worry about it, and he trusts that Davey will take care of him until he feels strong enough to be the king of Manhattan again. 

So Davey starts getting bossier, commanding Jack through exactly what he wants. They've learned each other's bodies well enough by now that Davey knows precisely what things affect Jack best, what brings him to the edge fastest, and he uses that information to make the most of whatever time they're able to get. 

When they only have a few minutes of groping in the alley - "Hands against the wall," Davey whispers, and he grinds himself against Jack from behind while a hand sneaks into Jack's trousers and the other holds his hip hard enough to bruise. 

When they sneak away to the roof between the morning and evening papers - "Open up, there ya go," Davey purrs as he combs one hand into Jack's hair and the other guides his cock to Jack's waiting mouth. 

And most gloriously, on those nights Medda lets them stay in the theatre after everyone's gone home - "I'm ready, Jack, do it," Davey growls, forearms braced on the floor as he presses back toward Jack's touch. "Stop teasing me and just-" He breaks off into a hot moan when Jack slips a second finger inside. Davey bows his back, panting, and Jack rubs soothing circles against the base of his spine as the muscles relax to let Jack further into his body. "Mmm, hurry up, Jacky, I need you in me," Davey snaps raggedly, and Jack grins as he scrambles to comply. 

Those nights are Jack's favorites, the times they escape from the rest of the world and can be together as tightly as humanly possible, complete as one. 

* * *

It's a muggy night, summer giving way to rainy autumn, and Jack and Davey have taken refuge inside of the theatre. Davey is stretched out with his back against a set-piece, alternating between reading and appreciatively watching as Jack works on his new backdrop. The last of the theatre crew is leaving for the night, calling goodbyes to the boys because even Davey is a familiar face at this point. 

Medda, always the last to leave, stops in to check on them before she goes. "Don't you stay up all night, Jack Kelly," she chides firmly. "Those paints will still be here in the morning." 

Jack chuckles, glancing up from the river he's painting to shoot her a smile. "I know, Miss Medda," he replies. "We'll be headin' out soon, just wanna finish this part." 

The older woman hums and her eyes are appraising. Medda knows what they get up to when they're left alone. She'd found them once, passionately kissing in the shadowed catwalks when they thought everyone was busy with the show. Although both boys had been terrified, she simply said, "You should be more careful, sugar," and left them to it. When she told Jack, a week later, that he could stay late to paint if he wanted, so long as he locked up when he left, Jack knew she was trying to help, giving them a safe space to be alone, and he loves her for it. 

"Alright, well you boys just make sure to get some sleep," Medda says, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. "And be safe gettin' home." 

"You too," Jack and Davey say together. Medda gives them a fond smile and then leaves out the back door, locking it behind her with a sturdy click. 

The moment they're alone, Jack discards his paintbrush among the clutter of tins and starts for where Davey's sitting. "Jack," Davey says flatly, eyes narrowed, and it stops Jack mid-step. Davey traces those deep blue eyes up and down Jack until the other boy squirms uncomfortably. 

"Davey." Jack means to sound confident, but it comes out a bit whiny even to his own ears, and he cringes. "You just gonna stare all night?" 

A corner of Davey's mouth quirks up in amusement. "Considering it," he muses. "But mostly, your hands are covered in paint. Do you know how difficult it was to explain the streaks of paint on the _inside_ of my trousers when Momma saw that?" Jack bites back a laugh, which just makes Davey narrow his eyes again. "Go clean the paint off." 

Jack humphs petulantly, but he goes back to his supplies to find the damp rag he uses to clean messes. While Jack carefully scrubs as much of the paint off his hands as he can, Davey's gaze never leaves him, a powerful, oppressive weight that makes heat coil in Jack's belly. Once he's finally wiped away at least the wet paint, Jack drops the rag and tugs off his painting smock, folding it over the nearby stepladder. 

"Was that so difficult?" Davey teases sarcastically, earning a withering glare from Jack. Chuckling, Davey closes his book and stands, looking perfectly unruffled and elegant the way he always does. Davey sweeps his gaze over Jack again, and Jack would feel self-conscious about his threadbare undershirt and dirty nails if Davey's eyes didn't darken with arousal at the sight. 

"Jesus, was you serious 'bout just starin' all night?" Jack mutters with a huff, sneaking a step forward. 

"Maybe I like to look," Davey shoots back, raising an eyebrow. "You got a problem with that?" 

Jack shifts his weight, grimacing at the growing distraction that's making his trousers less comfortable by the minute. "A little bit," Jack agrees. "Ya can stare any ol' time, and I know ya like touchin' more than lookin' anyway." 

Davey laughs, eyes sparkling, and the only sign he's affected by all of this anticipation is the way he loosens the knot of his tie just a little. "Someone's got a smart mouth tonight." 

With a dangerous grin, Jack licks his lips, pleased when Davey's gaze jumps to the motion just like he hoped. "Then gimme somethin' betta to do with it," Jack challenges. 

There's a brief flash of surprise on Davey's face before it melts back into a subtle smirk. He considers Jack for a second longer and then nods. "C'mere." Jack stalks across the backstage, and once he's close enough, Davey grabs a fistful of his ratty shirt and drags him into a fierce kiss. Humming in satisfaction, Jack leans into it, one hand on Davey's waist and the other tangling in his hair as he deepens the kiss eagerly. 

It burns and crackles between them, a thrill of excitement and passion surging up like a wildfire. How can people say that something that feels so good could ever be _wrong_? Jack nips Davey's plush bottom lip, dives in to explore with his tongue, determined to drown himself in the other boy. His fingers flutter on the buttons of Davey's waistcoat, popping them open to slip a hand beneath, but even that's not enough. When Jack tries to tug the shirt free from his trousers, Davey abruptly grabs his wrist tightly. 

"Not so fast," Davey purrs against his mouth. "We don't get this often, I wanna enjoy it. So behave." He pushes forward, and this time Davey's the one to plunder his mouth, teasing his lips with sharp bites followed by gentle flicks of his tongue. Jack moans, fisting his hands in Davey's shirt to resist the urge to tear it off entirely. His cock is hard and aching, desperate for touch of any kind, and Jack pulls Davey forward until he can grind against the taller boy's hips for friction. 

Davey steps back so suddenly that Jack staggers a half-step, and the inches of space between them feel like the Grand Canyon, leaving Jack's skin cold from loss of contact. Blue eyes harden, narrow, and Davey frowns. "I thought I told you to behave," he says, tone low. Jack shivers. "I told you to be patient, not to rush." 

"Dave," Jack whines, wincing as he adjusts his stance in an attempt to ease the ache in his pants. 

"If you're not going to keep your hands where I tell you to, maybe I should make sure you have to," Davey threatens, and this time Jack's legs waver at the thought. Always observant, Davey's eyes widen, and his smirk twists dangerously. "You like that idea, don't you?" There's a quiet moment of anticipation as Jack waits and Davey's gaze pans around thoughtfully. Finally, Davey seizes a handful of Jack's shirt and tugs him around, pushing so Jack is forced to stumble backward where Davey leads. He gasps out in surprise when his back collides with something solid, and Jack glances upward curiously to see they're standing at one of the towering scaffolds that edge the stage. 

"I want to take my time," Davey says, and the way his voice has shifted in pitch, low and predatory and hungry, sets Jack on fire. Grabbing Jack's wrists, Davey lifts them above his head and pins them in place with one hand. Davey stands up onto his toes, straining upward, and then Jack startles at the feel of rope looping around his wrists. Breath catching, Jack looks up and watches with fascination as Davey slowly winds the braided cord that holds the stage curtains open during shows around both of his wrists. 

"Hold that for me, would you?" Davey teases, pressing the trailing end of the cord into Jack's palm with a wink. Jack doesn't hesitate to close both fists around the rope. Davey smiles and strokes Jack's cheek fondly. "There, that should make sure you behave," he says. At the same time, his eyes are soft and questioning in a familiar way, a silent inquiry to be sure Jack's okay with this development.

Nodding quickly, Jack tightens his grip on the cord until his knuckles turn white because he's a thousand degrees of okay with this. There are no knots, all Jack would have to do to get free is release the rope, but he doesn't want to. It's exhilarating, surrendering all control over to Davey with the knowledge that Davey will make it good. Davey never fails to make it worth it, to make sure Jack is rewarded for following instructions. 

"Please, Davey, I'll be good," Jack moans, hitching his hips forward desperately.

"Don't really have a choice, do ya?" Davey responds with a grin. Jack shivers, eyes rolling up at the reminder. "Now stay there. It's been over a month since the last time we got to take our time. I want to enjoy it." 

Davey starts by hooking a hand around the back of Jack's neck and claiming his mouth, eager and possessive. Jack knew from that very first time that he's ruined for anyone else; nothing else could ever compare to the way Davey _consumes _him. Davey's kisses are equal parts demanding and tender, biting his lips before soothing them, plundering his mouth and then stroking softly with his tongue. It makes Jack feel owned and treasured. 

As Davey devours him, his hands roaming over Jack's body and into his hair, Jack whines because he can't touch him back. The cord is soft, not scratching his skin, but it tightens every time he tries to pull his arms down, and the feeling just sends Jack flying higher. He can't take, can only receive what Davey gives him, forced to just languish in the attentive focus of Davey. 

"Davey, please," Jack gasps when Davey finally releases his mouth, attention shifting to laying a row of tiny nips down the side of his neck. Those gloriously long fingers slide up beneath Jack's undershirt, tracing painfully light paths along his stomach and ribs and spine. Jack shudders with a high-pitched whine, hips jerking forward in search of friction, anything to soften the ache. 

"Stop," Davey commands, a hand pressing down hard on Jack's hip to hold him in place. "Not yet." 

Jack groans, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. "Fuckin' hell, youse gonna kill me," he protests, clutching at the rope in his hands with a desperate need to hold onto anything while his mind feels like it's scattering to pieces. "Dave, I can't - please." 

"And people think _I_ talk a lot," Davey mutters fondly, rolling his eyes. "Do you want the whole Bowery to hear us?" 

He shoves Jack's shirt up, pushing the collar up over his head, but the fabric is trapped around his arms with no way to escape over his bound hands. Jack raises an eyebrow pointedly, but Davey just smirks. Then he tugs the whole stretch of fabric back down in front of Jack's head, pushing the bundled strip of shirt against Jack's mouth. "Open up," Davey orders, and Jack's jaw drops. Davey takes the opportunity to press the fabric into his mouth. "There, that should keep you quiet." 

Jack moans with desire. The sleeves of his shirt are still hooked around his biceps, and the angle of his bound arms tugs the fabric back against his face forcefully, effectively gagging him as it fills the space between his teeth. Now he really has no choice but to wait for Davey's mercy, with no hands to grasp or voice to beg. Jack's eyes roll up, and his cock is throbbing painfully. 

"Mm, you like that," Davey says, scrutinizing Jack's face curiously. It's an observation, not a question, but Jack jerks his head in a shallow nod anyway. It's yet another restraint Jack could quickly get out of if he changes his mind, could just turn his head to free his mouth, but this feeling is euphoric. "God, Jack, you're incredible," Davey breathes, brushing fingers over Jack's cheekbone just above the bunched up shirt, and Jack leans into the touch. "Don't worry, I'm gonna make you feel good. Just trust me. I'll take care of you." 

Jack nods again, but the movement breaks off into a garbled yelp when Davey closes his lips around Jack's nipple. No fair, he knows how much Jack likes that. Davey grips his waist tightly, holding him still as he alternates light nips with drags of his tongue. Sparks rocket through Jack's skin, lightning bolts erupting outward from Davey's mouth. Just when Jack's quivering, his legs threatening to give, Davey pulls off. 

Breathing heavily through his nose, Jack leans his head back in relief. He's not sure how much more he can take. Davey lays nonsense patterns of warm, open-mouthed kisses across the expanse of Jack's chest, licking up his sternum. Then that dangerous mouth reaches his other nipple, and Jack cries out into the makeshift gag. 

"You're so beautiful like this," Davey murmurs into his collarbone. "I love this so much, the way you fall apart when I touch you. Who knew the unbreakable Jack Kelly was so desperate for touch?" Jack keens and Davey's deceptively strong fingers dig in when Jack tries to wriggle in his touch. There will probably be bruises later, tiny fingerprints freckling his body, and Jack's head spins with it. He loves wearing the secret reminders that Davey has claimed him, that this boy who is so clever and good and caring can see Jack as something worth being owned. 

Jack arches his chest toward where Davey's mouth hovers over his skin, and the taller boy takes the hint. Davey bites down on his collarbone, and Jack moans. The bite shifts to a hot, sucking kiss, the skin prickling as blood rushes to the spot and stains his skin red. Davey moves an inch to the side, adding another mark to the collection, then another, until there's a perfect row of them that stretch the full length of Jack's collarbones. 

Safely hidden beneath a shirt during the day, but always there, a lingering brand on his skin that Jack will know is there even though no one else can see. And best of all, Davey will know. Can look at Jack and visualize what's hiding underneath the clothes. Whenever it happens, Davey always gets this sneaky, satisfied smile; sometimes he'll bite down hard on his bottom lip. 

As much as Jack loves being marked, he knows Davey loves being the one to mark him just as much. 

Jack is abruptly jerked from his fantasies when Davey presses his palm over Jack's cock, rubbing at the sensitive skin through the fabric of his trousers. Bending into the touch, Jack momentarily forgets he's gagged and tries to beg Davey for more, the words thick and garbled through his shirt. Jack's half-lidded eyes jump to Davey's face, pleading with his eyes. 

"Okay, okay," Davey says reassuringly. It doesn't help that he hasn't released Jack's cock, petting it softly through his pants, while his other hand brushes up Jack's side. "You need it now, huh?" Jack whines and nods, straining into Davey's palm. Davey smiles and leans in to plant tiny, kitten kisses along Jack's cheekbones and forehead and nose. "Okay, I'll take care of you." He leans in, so his next words are muggy near Jack's ear, which is partly covered by the bunched shirt. "Please tell me it's still in your paints tray."

Eyes rolling up, Jack nods frantically. Davey drops one last kiss against his temple, and then all touch disappears. Jack slumps against the scaffold, his wrists and shoulders protesting slightly at taking so much of his weight. He tries to get his breath back as his eyes follow Davey across the backstage to Jack's abandoned paint supplies. 

Davey gives him an unfairly teasing view when he bends over to rummage through the box of paints - Jack moans loudly through his gag to make his opinion of that known. The only response it gets is a raised eyebrow shot over a shoulder and then a faint wiggle, the dirty minx. All Jack's concerns about the tease are abolished when Davey straightens up with the familiar little glass jar in his hand, and the sight makes Jack's bones turn to slush. 

Setting the jar down at his feet, Davey tugs at one of Jack's hips and makes a spinning motion with his other hand. "Turn around," he says in case Jack hadn't already gotten the point - not an issue because Jack's halfway around, stumbling slightly as he struggles to rotate with his arms still held above his head and his legs feeling like they're made of water. "Good boy," Davey murmurs into Jack's bare shoulder, and Jack flushes at the way the praise, even playfully given, makes his blood race. 

"You want it so bad, don't you?" Davey says, taking a moment to press himself completely against Jack's spine, rolling his hips forward. Jack whines and pushes his forehead against the cold metal of the scaffold. "God, you're so beautiful," Davey whispers, and his hands finally, mercifully, work over the fastenings of Jack's trousers. Fingers hook in both trousers and underclothes, dragging them down as far as his knees, and then the touch moves back to caress the exposed skin of his ass. 

Moaning, Jack widens his stance as far as the clothes bunched around his legs will allow. "Shh, I gotcha, Jacky," Davey breathes against his back. He sucks a mark just below the base of Jack's neck, then his touch disappears again, coupled with the sound of the jar lid twisting open. "I gotcha," Davey soothes, rubbing oil-slicked fingers down between Jack's cheeks, and Jack keens, trying to push back for more. Davey's other hand tightens on his hip, a pointed warning. "Shh, Jack, I'll take care of you, I promise. Just trust me." 

Jack feels like he's going to shudder apart as warm fingertips trace around and around the place where Jack really needs them. He whimpers, muscles quivering, and when he feels a tip press inside, he almost sobs with relief. "There ya go," Davey says, other hand rubbing over ribs and back and chest, soothing him. "Just relax. 

Closing his eyes, Jack fights down his body's instinct to close up against this strange intrusion. It gets easier when Davey wraps the other hand around Jack's cock, pumping lightly to distract him from the burn. Jack loses himself in the feeling, the gentle stroke on his cock and the pattern of nips and kisses being laid along the back of his shoulders. After a minute, the finger sinks further, waits for him to adjust, and then starts to piston slowly. 

"Do you know how lovely you look like this?" Davey growls into his spine. "All of your muscles twitching under your skin, your body opening up for me. I never get tired of seeing this. Don't think I'll _ever_ get tired of seeing this." 

Jack moans and drops his head back, and it's only his clenched teeth that keep the gag from slipping from his mouth. He could let go, could take back his voice for a minute to beg, but strangely, Jack doesn't want to. He loves this feeling, being left to Davey's mercy, trusting Davey to give him what he needs. Davey hums and nuzzles in where he can lay a line of kisses down Jack's neck. "So beautiful." 

The burn has faded now, so Jack rocks back onto Davey's hand, urging him to keep going. Davey chuckles and kisses his temple again. "One sec, Jacky." The hand pulls out entirely, and Jack whines a protest. Davey's back a second later, stroking his side consolingly, and then the finger comes back with a friend, the slippery oil they've been recoated in letting them slide through the tight muscle. 

"You're doing so good," Davey praises and Jack can hear the rough edge to his voice now, Davey losing his grasp on the calm composure he's been keeping up so far. "A little more, Jacky." The fingers plunge deeper and deeper with each thrust, working him open, and then finally-

Jack cries out at the sudden bolt of pleasure that shoots straight up his spine when the fingers find that place inside. He's lost his grip on the shirt, his head thrown back and mouth opened around a broken yelp. "There we are," Davey hums in satisfaction, and he attacks the spot relentlessly on every other pump of his fingers; one pump drives all the way inside and spreads, the next rubs deliberately on his spot. Jack dissolves into a shuddering, jibbering mess, sure that the majority of what comes out of his mouth aren't words but just desperate sounds. 

"Please," Jack begs out because that white-hot light is flaring in the back of his head, but it's not quite enough, not what he really wants. "Please, Davey, _in_." 

Davey gives a low, animal noise, and when his fingers slide free, it leaves Jack feeling achingly empty. He doesn't need to wait long, just long enough for the rustle of fabric and the clatter of the glass jar almost being knocked over in haste. Then Davey's there, the hard blunt nudge of him seeking entry, and Jack gasps out again. Davey takes Jack in hand, stroking and murmuring aimless nothings into Jack's neck as he inches slowly, slowly forward. It's pain just this side of pleasure, a burn that feels so good, as Jack's body opens and accepts Davey into him. 

They're both panting and shaking by the time Davey is flush against Jack's back, and it's the most delicious agony. Davey's not very thick - there'd been some blushing embarrassment the first time they'd seen each other, basic male parts of their brain comparing - but he's so long Jack thinks he can feel it all the way in his stomach. Davey wraps his arms around Jack, holding him while they both adjust to the feeling. 

Finally, Jack can't take it anymore, and he rocks back in an attempt to take Davey impossibly deeper. "Fuck," Davey hisses into his skin, and the sound of it fills Jack with perverse pride. Davey never curses, a perpetual embodiment of the good boy he is, except when they're like this. Nothing can make Davey swear except Jack, and it feels empowering to know that Jack can wear away that good boy exterior to find this side of Davey. 

Of course, then Davey draws back before plunging forward again, and Jack stops thinking entirely. 

It's a fast and punishing pace, and that's enough to tell Jack that Davey won't last long. One long-fingered hand is squeezing his hip while the other pushes Jack's shoulders forward until he's leaning into the scaffold. Davey sets up a rhythm, sharp and deep, and then he pushes down on Jack's lower back a little, adjusting the angle just enough that he finds that spot on every thrust, and Jack has to bite down on his bundled shirt again to stop from shouting. 

Davey's pace stutters, his breaths turning into gasps, and with one, bruising drive inward, Jack feels him finish. He can feel Davey twitching and throbbing inside of him, the warm, slick heat of it as he fills Jack so completely. Jack whimpers, trembling and barely able to keep his legs beneath him because he's so close it hurts, can feel himself balanced right there on the edge of the abyss and he needs just a little more. 

Craning his head back so he can talk, Jack begs, "Dave, please, touch me. I need - so close-" 

Davey twitches again, and Jack sobs when Davey pulls out of him entirely. Then Davey grabs his hips and shoves, spinning Jack around again to push his back against the cold metal bars. "I want to taste you," Davey snarls out raggedly, and Jack's heart stops in his chest when Davey falls heavily to his knees. 

Jack gazes down in awe at the sight, Davey kneeling between his shaking, splayed legs. Davey's trousers are only open enough for his cock to hang free, damp and dripping, but he's entirely dressed apart from that. Jack moans, and the cords from the curtains bite into his skin; they've gotten more twisted up from turning around again, and it feels exquisite to be so utterly trapped. There's warm, sticky heat rolling down the inside of his thigh, and knowing what it is almost throws him over the edge. 

Then Davey wraps his mouth around Jack's throbbing erection, and he almost screams into the shirt wrapped across the lower half of his face. 

It takes almost no time at all, Davey swallowing down his cock with fervor, and Jack can feel that knot in his lower abdomen tightening - tightening - tightening - Davey digs his fingernails into the backs of Jack's thighs at the same time he swallows hard, and Jack's world goes white. 

When he blinks back to reality, Davey's cradling his face in his hands, whispering soft reassurances. It takes some prompting for Jack to understand he's supposed to be getting his feet beneath him, and it's not until he manages to shakily stand that the burn in his wrists surges forward again. "I gotcha," Davey murmurs, one arm wrapped around Jack's ribs as he presses up onto his toes to pry the end of the rope from Jack's fingers and carefully uncoil the cord. 

The last loop disappears, and Jack's arms drop heavily; the shirt holding his arms together means they fall straight forward onto Davey's head. Davey laughs, pulling the shirt the rest of the way off so Jack's arms slip free. Jack hisses when his fingers start to tingle, circulation coming back. 

"C'mon, we can lay down a sec 'fore we start cleanin' up," Davey murmurs, and the loss of his schoolboy diction betrays how wrecked he is too. They stagger over into a more open corner, and Davey eases Jack down to the floor. He winces when his rear hits the hardwood panels, muscles sore in all the best ways, and he groans blearily when he lays down. 

Davey is back a minute later with one of the rags that Jack uses for cleaning up after painting, and he gingerly wipes the moisture from Jack's thighs and backside. Once he's eased Jack back into his trousers - Jack whimpers when the fabric scrapes against his over-sensitive skin - Davey cleans himself off and tucks back into his pants. Long fingers close around Jack's hand, thumbs massaging gently at the harsh red marks on his wrists. 

"Sorry, I didn't realize ya got so twisted up," Davey says contritely, his blue eyes soft and sad when he kisses the welt on Jack's wrist. 

Jack grins sleepily, his brain still floating in a hazy soup of bliss. "S'fine, felt good," he mumbles, squeezing Davey's fingers to reinforce it. The ache in his shoulders is a steady thrumming that echoes the soreness in his rear, and the rivaling oscillations of soft pain are deliciously satisfying. "_Really_ good," he tacks on with a chuckle. There's no missing the way Davey's eyes widen and then promptly darken just a hint, showing that he's aroused by the idea too. Jack's stomach flutters with the hope that this might be something they do again in the future, a new fun game they can explore more with time. With a lazy smile, Jack licks his lips and hums. 

Davey returns the smile playfully, kissing Jack's wrists again, and he comes along willingly when Jack tugs him down to lay with him. "Still," Davey says, tracing the red marks with his fingertips, "those are gonna be a lot harder to hide from the fellas." 

Jack scrunches his nose because he can't deny that. "I'll figure somethin'," he says, shrugging. "Think I can convince the fellas I got attacked and kidnapped by thugs and had to fight my way out?" 

"If anybody can, it's you," Davey responds, and his smile is warm against Jack's ribs. Jack preens at the comment. Davey trails a line of kisses up to the center of Jack's chest and then leans in to brace himself over Jack. "You sure I didn't hurt ya, though?" 

"Trust me," Jack insists. "Hurt is the last word I'd use ta' describe it." He traces his eyes over Davey's face appreciatively, and his lips quirk when he notices a tiny fleck of white stuck to the skin below his bottom lip. Jack's stomach churns hungrily, and he drags his thumb over the spot to wipe it away. 

"Oh, did I miss-?" Davey breaks off, dragging the back of his wrist over his mouth. 

Jack chuckles. "Ya know, I can't call ya Mouth no more without thinkin' 'bout that," he admits with a mischievous grin. "Nickname Mouth fits ya perfect, but not for the reasons I thought a'first." 

Flushing scarlet, Davey shoves his shoulder playfully. "I'm gonna tell the fellas to start callin' me it more just to watch you blush then," he replies. 

"I don't blush," Jack protests, scoffing, but they both know it's a lie. Davey, when he gets it in his head to be a tease, can almost always get beneath Jack's collar and coax out a bit color. It usually ends in one of them dragging the other into an alley or something similar. Huffing, Jack wraps his arms around Davey and pulls him down so he can burrow his face in the curve of those sharp collarbones. 

"We can't stay here all night," Davey reminds him even as he makes himself comfortable, half-sprawled across Jack's broader figure. 

"Sure, but - five more minutes?" Jack says hopefully. As much as he loves what they get up to when they have the chance, Jack also loves this after part. They get this even less often than they get the sex, so rarely have the free, quiet moments to just bask in the comfort of togetherness. Jack loves when they can take each other to pieces, but even more, he loves when they get to hold each other together afterward. 

Davey smiles, and he makes a soft, affectionate noise as he strokes a hand through Jack's hair. "Five more minutes," he concedes. Slipping off Jack's chest, he rolls onto his side and pulls Jack along with him until they're facing each other in the shadowy backstage corner. They tangle together like a knot, legs hooked and chests pressed and hands petting. Davey's eyes, that fierce commanding blue, are kind and loving and open as the night sky. "Now shut up and kiss me," he whispers with a grin. 

And Jack echoes it with a cheeky, "Yes'sir," because while Jack might have trouble with following orders in general, he's getting better at it. 


End file.
